Hidden Target
by MusicDefinesUsAll
Summary: Bound, gagged, and held captive, Detective Quentin Lance can only imagine how this will end for him. Especially considering who it was who took him. But what he did not expect was that the vigilante was captured as well. (Reveal fic).


**Title:** Hidden Target  
**Rating:** T  
**Pairings:** None  
**Spoilers:** A few mentions of things that happen in season 1.  
**Warnings:** There are a few swear words as well as some blood and descriptions that I don't think are bad at all, but others may think so.  
**AN:** I have to say that I am very disappointed at the lack of reveal!fics for people finding out who Oliver is. I am also very disappointed at the lack of fics with Quentin in them. So maybe this will motivate more of these types of fics? If anyone knows of a good reveal!fic or one with Quentin as a major character, let me know, please? I was not able to have my usual beta, pumpkinless, read this for any errors as she is a stupidface and has not started watching Arrow yet (I love you~). So any mistakes of any kind are all my fault.

On another note, to my readers of Blood Doesn't Make Family, I have not forgotten about it. It's just that real life and college and my job kinda get in the way of writing often. Plus I only just got my motivation for writing back, and I do plan on continuing BDMF as my NaNoWriMo novel, so by the end of November I should have another 50k written for it. And that means actual updates. Thank you all for being so patient!

* * *

Detective Lance groggily lifted his head, moaning at the pounding in his ears. He tried opening his eyes only to discover that the darkness wouldn't go away. Moment of panic aside, he tried lifting his hands to the blindfold and gag he currently had stuffed in his mouth. As his foggy brain was still trying to catch up with the real world, he registered that his hands were bound behind him with rope. Giving a soft pull the best he could, he found that they were tied to something. Even though he couldn't see what it was, he could half hazard a fairly decent guess.

The detective then turned his senses to his surroundings the best he could while bound, gagged, and blindfolded. From what he could hear, it sounded like a rather large open area with the sound of something, water maybe, dripping sluggishly nearby. It fit with how the temperature was on the chilly side – though that could just be the October weather kicking in.

Just as he was about to start working on the knots holding his hands together, Quentin heard a door to his right screech open and closed, footsteps making their way towards him. A rough hand gripped the cloth tied around his eyes and pulled. Several hairs were ripped out, and an assault of light bombarded his eyes. He had to squint for a few moments while he adjusted to his vision being reacquainted with him.

The first thing he noticed was that he was correct about the area he was in – it was a clichéd damp and dark, run-down warehouse. Quentin then focused on the retreating figure's back. From what he could gather, he was a rather burly sort of guy, but in the huge muscles that could kill you by squeezing your neck sort of way. A mop of chestnut brown hair sat on top of his head.

His attention didn't focus on the guy who removed his blindfold for long as it shifted towards the source of the bright light, and he was surprised at what he saw illuminated by it. The flood lamp that was directed away from him was pointed at a body hanging from the rafters above with feet just barely skimming the ground. What he thought was water dripping before was discovered to be blood, dripping lazily down a leg and to the ground, forming a small puddle.

But what surprised him even more was who the figure was. The figure who seemed uncatchable was hanging by his wrists, hood still up, and clearly unconscious or asleep – though the later seemed unlikely. Hanging before him was the vigilante who had been evading arrest and capture for as long as he made his existence known. For so long he seemed invincible and untouchable, but now he seemed so _vulnerable_ with clear injuries weeping blood through the layers of cloth and leather.

"See? It can be done. He can be caught, and it really is all thanks to you and the Starling City Police." The guy spoke for the first time since Lance came to. The man before him saw his confused eyes and supplied the answer he was looking for.

"You see, he and I were fighting, and I'll admit that he almost had me finished. But you and your guys provided the perfect distraction to where I was able to catch him off guard for the split second needed to render him unconscious. That was a few days ago, in case you were wondering why you haven't seen Starling City's darling hero here." Quentin was able to picture the night he was talking about perfectly. They had thought that they were going to capture the Hood for sure, but it turns out it was someone else's lucky evening. He could hear the muffled sounds of fighting in his head of that night, the thrill and rush of maybe, just maybe finally catching the guy who had been _mocking_ them with how easily he evaded capture.

He had an idea of who the big guy may be, and if he was right, then the odds of him getting out alive were very slim and next to nonexistent with how he was free to see and hear what he had to say. Quentin was having mixed thoughts on the Hood – should they try to escape together, or will he feel satisfaction in watching him die at the hands of their captor? At least if he escaped, the police would finally have a strong description of Jamison Dunn for their records, Quentin thought to himself. Jamison was a man who the police had been hunting for _years_ and may actually be more wanted than the vigilante. But the difference was that there was more proof for the Hood's actions than what Jamison has done.

"And I've been a good boy for Santa this year; I haven't even taken a peak at this present to see who is under the hood. I wanted to share in the excitement of unwrapping this one with someone else who wants to know as badly as I do." The grin that Jamison had on while walking up closer to the Hood was downright bone chilling. He gave the hanging man a small push with his hand, but there was no reaction.

"Let's say we wake him up, I want to see him _squirming_, trying to avoid letting his identity be known…" Jamison backed up to stand by the detective, sliding a knife out of its sheath on his side. He made sure to reposition the flood light so it shone directly at the Hood – they would be able to see him, but he wouldn't be able to see anyone past the blinding light.

Jamison gripped the knife, pulled his arm back, and expertly threw it to land in the Hood's shoulder. Needless to say, it definitely woke up the man. The Hood's yell of surprise and pain brought an even bigger grin to the big guy's face and he chuckled.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Hood. I have to say, that's no way to react when we have a guest here with us – you need to be louder." His face went serious as he took out another knife.

"You know how good I have been about not seeing who you are, but the time has come, Hood, to see your true face." Jamison stalked forward and stuck the knife at the top of the green jacket at his neck, ignoring the zipper he could use, and started to pull downwards. He was not careful towards the other man and made sure to make the Hood protest the actions even more by 'accidently' nicking him with the razor sharp blade.

Chest now exposed, Quentin could see knots and thick, ropey lines of scars as well as an undecipherable tattoo from where he was sitting on the floor. Jamison pulled the knife that was sticking out of the Hood's shoulder only to slam in into his left thigh. The quick motion of it all tore a yell of pain from the Hood, and Quentin was having mixed feelings about what was happening before him.

A part of him was glad that the vigilante was finally getting what he deserved, but another part of him was protesting it because as much as he may dislike the unknown man, he did help the police against the criminals that they had issues getting information on. And no one should undergo the pains of any sort of torture.

"Now, about that hood…" he put the knife in his hand back into its sheath after wiping the blood on the Hood's torn jacket. He gripped both sides of the hood on either side of his face and slid it over his head to reveal the man underneath. Piercing eyes glared back at Jamison with pure revulsion, and for a moment everything was silent. From where he was sitting tied up, Jamison's body blocked Quentin's view of who the vigilante was.

"Well, well, well, I have to say that I never expected the vigilante to be Oliver Queen." With Jamison's words, Quentin's eyes opened wide in shock. He never let go of his previous suspicion of the young Queen, but after all that happened when questioning him, he didn't think he would actually, truly, be the one who was correct. The big guy moved to the side, and the detective was able to fully see Oliver with more blood adding to the small puddle under his feet.

"Well I never expected you to be so patient – it took you long enough." Oliver spoke for the first time since Lance came to, and with that, he gripped the ropes with his hands and brought his legs up to deliver a powerful kick to Jamison's solar plexus. It knocked the big guy back a few feet, and in retaliation he slugged the Hood across the face with his fist.

Quentin's mind was in turmoil as he tried to work through all of this new information, watching as the Oliver before him broke all knowledge of the Oliver that he knew – both from before the island and after. All of the little quirks that the billionaire had shown before that Quentin thought were because the other man was arrogant and naive now made sense. Such examples like Oliver disappearing in the middle of events or even arriving late supported the idea that he didn't think they were important enough to the playboy. But it now showed that he cared even more than previously thought.

"That was not nice, Queen."

"Who said I was nice?" A wad of blood and saliva landed on Jamison's shirt, and two sets of narrowed eyes met, vivid green meeting chocolate brown.

"Give me a few minutes, _Oliver_, and you will wish that I killed you before I knew who you were." With that, he stalked out of the room, and instantly Quentin watched Oliver's whole body language change from the damaged goods that he was projecting while Jamison was in the room to a lethal machine with a plan.

Ignoring the pain and using the few precious minutes he knew he had, Oliver started to climb the rope with his hands the best he could. He began to flip upside down, pushing against the rope with his feet, and pulling against to pull himself up more. The vigilante, _Oliver_ Quentin corrected in his mind, got the rope to the point where the detective could see what his plan was. The big guy either forgot about or didn't care about the knife that was still stuck in Queen's thigh.

With a grunt of pain and clenched teeth, Oliver wrenched the knife out of his thigh and let himself fall down – by accident or on purpose, Quentin still isn't sure – back to how he was before with his feet skimming the ground with the addition of a knife gripped between his hands.

"I'm assuming that whoever _Little Jami_ brought in with him is either gagged or nonexistent. Wouldn't be the first time he played mind tricks on me…" Oliver angrily gritted out, blinking eyes trying to momentarily see through the blinding light. Queen's words also confirmed Quentin's suspicions of who the guy was who kidnapped them.

In the span of a minute, Lance watched as Oliver worked through the pain, new blood seeping out from his wrists because of the rope, as he cut at the bonds that tied him to the rafters. Once he broke free, he fell to the floor, and Quentin surprised himself by holding his breath as no movement came from the fallen man.

His increasing worry was lessened when he heard a moan and watched as Oliver pushed against the ground, pulling his legs under him to slowly stand up. The vigilante, _Oliver_, began to creep his way past the flood lamp and let his eyes adjust to the sight before him. The look on his face instantly went from an irritated curiosity to a blank annoyance, trying to hide the pain that he was in with gritted teeth.

"Of course it's you," his voice was strained as he fell to his knees beside the detective he knew and worked at cutting away the gag in his mouth. Up closer, Quentin was able to see splotches of dried blood crusted over on sections of his jacket that hadn't been pulled away, making it stick to his skin. Black, blue, and red splotches painted his body in a sick form of art, and the detective wondered how he was still moving and not weeping, doubled over in pain.

"Before you say anything," Oliver began just as he was about to remove the gag, "you can ask questions later after we escape and are not dead." At Quentin's hesitant nod, the gag was thrown to the side. After a few moments of starting to cut away at the rope tying him to the pole, Oliver questioned the man before him, a few droplets of blood mixing with sweat to travel down his chest to land on the detective's shirt.

"Why aren't you saying anything?" He paused for a brief moment as he looked at the detective before resuming cutting at the ropes.

"You told me to save all my questions for later, and all I have are questions right now. What do you expect me to talk about, the weather?" Oliver cracked a small smile and his slight laugh turned into a coughing fit causing him to stop hacking at the rope for a second.

A concerned look crossed over Quentin's face before he remembered that it wasn't just the young Queen before him – his thoughts still jumbled and confused, the mantra of _Oliver Queen is the vigilante_ repeating in the back of his head. Regaining his bearings, hand clenching at his stomach, and eyes screwed shut, Oliver gasped for air before working at the thick ropes again.

"If you don't mind me asking, are you okay? I mean, despite the obvious?"

"Besides the cracked ribs and bones, multiple puncture wounds and lacerations, strained muscles, lack of food and water as well as infection or a fever of some sort from the damp warehouse I was strung up in for several days, I'm doing just peachy. Why the sudden concern for…" he stopped short, holding his breath for the briefest moment, shushing Lance just as he was about to say something.

"Take the knife and continue to try and get yourself free. Jamison is coming, and I'm fairly certain that he doesn't intend on letting us leave alive. He never let me see his face until now, he always wore a mask – including the night he captured me." Oliver spoke in a quick whisper as he handed the knife over to the other's bound hands. "I want you to know that this guy will remain free and squeaky clean with the police because of how careful he is if I don't do something about him."

"How do you know he's coming?"

"When your senses are the only things keeping you alive, you tend to pay attention to anything and everything."

"Are you talking about the island or here…?" Quentin never got an answer as Oliver scurried to his feet and leaned against the wall beside the door he knew Jamison was coming in. Cutting at the rope was even slower going now that Quentin needed to pause briefly every few seconds because of his hands cramping up from the awkward angle he was sawing at. He watched as Queen's demeanor changed once again, shelving the pain and focusing on what needed to be done.

It was a sort of horrifying awe that Quentin watched Oliver move gracefully and suddenly despite the pain to react to Jamison opening the door and stepping in. The fight or flight response he got in return was just as quick. The fight was vastly uneven in the way that Jamison had two knives out just as quick as Oliver rained down kicks and punches and forearm blocks against the returning hits.

There was a yell from Oliver as one of the knives slashed his torso only adding more blood to the mix of sweat that was being thrown off his body from the quick movements. His response was to sweep his leg under his attacker's legs to knock him to the ground, but it ended taking them both to the floor in a tussle of arms and legs.

The fight between the two lasted several minutes, but seemed like it was only seconds before it was over. More gashes were created across Oliver's torso, and Quentin's movements stilled as he watched Oliver's form grow limp and collapse to the ground. A horrifying grin formed on Jamison's face and he turned to face the detective with a look of triumph on his face.

"Now, I'm going to enjoying killing you slowly. Maybe skin you partially, cut off a few appendages that you don't need anymore, drip molten metal on your eyes – the possibilities are endless. Maybe I'll mount your friend over there to the wall for you to see every day as I take my time in killing you. Let his body rot and smell." Movement in the corner of his eye caught Quentin's attention. A finger to his lips and a wink as Oliver quietly and painfully got to his feet behind the man who was walking towards Lance.

A look of complete surprise crossed Jamison's features as he turned and an arm came up just in time to block the one about to slam into his head. But that did nothing to stop the kick that was rammed into the guy's kneecap, bringing him down to the ground, the other knee coming up at the same time to ram him in the nose. The force was enough to black out Jamison's vision momentarily and to allow Oliver to grab one of the knives.

The Hood grabbed his neck, forcing him to lean back and exposing his body even more. In a flash, the knife was dragged across Jamison's neck and then driven into the man's chest, puncturing his heart and bringing him to death in a matter of seconds. Blood dribbled from his mouth and nose from the broken blood vessels and punctured lungs.

Detective Lance looked up at Oliver's face and saw a stony mask of a killer, but it was gone just as quick as it appeared. The ropes binding his hands to the pole finally snapped and released his arms. The pain from keeping his arms in one place too long was overshadowed by his movement to catch Oliver as he started to slump to the ground.

"I'm surprised you lasted this long."

"Yeah, well, adrenaline in one hell of a natural drug," Oliver coughed up a few flecks of blood to add to the rest that was covering his body. "Take me to Verdant."

"Your nightclub, why? You should be taken to a hosp…"

"No hospitals, please, just trust me… Backdoor…" His voice grew weaker and his eyelids started to droop, and Quentin started to feel the body go limp for real this time. The last words mumbled were a string of numbers before he blacked out and dropped into the detective's arms.

* * *

By the time Quentin had gotten Oliver into a car that was parked outside, keys taken from the pocket of the now dead guy from the inside, his mind had come up with even more questions than answers. His drive to the nightclub didn't help any with how he constantly was at war with himself as to whether or not to follow Oliver's wishes, or to damn it all and take him to a hospital where the Hood's identity would be revealed to all.

"I hope you know what you're talking about, kid…" Quentin again questioned his own sanity as he found the backdoor of the Queen's nightclub and saw a keypad. He punched in the numbers that Oliver had mumbled, and the door unlocked after a few failed tries to reveal a set of stairs leading to the basement below.

"Oliver? Is that you?" A shaky, female voice questioned from the depths below, and the detective hesitantly made his way down the stairs. The sight before him was surly one he would never forget – not just from the equipment, weapons, training gear, and technology, but also because of the small blonde standing in the middle of it all with a gun held in her hands. Lance paused for a moment registering from where he may have seen her before.

"Detective Lance?" the blonde spoke with surprise in her voice as she hastily hid the firearm behind her back. Cutting through any small talk possible, Quentin got straight to the point.

"I have a very injured and passed out Oliver Queen in the car out there, and I went against my better judgment to bring him to this place like he told me to…"

"You found him!" Felicity interrupted him, set the gun on the table beside her and hurried over towards the door. "I mean, of course you found him, otherwise you wouldn't have been able to get in here without hacking into the security here, which I should double check to make sure that it's not possible," Quentin turned towards the door after seeing a spot on a table that would be a good place for Oliver's body. He took the stairs two at a time all the while asking her what her name is.

"Felicity Smoak, I work at Queen Consolidated."

"But by night you're the Hood's own personal tech center, am I right?" The two reached the car and Felicity stopped short, biting her lip.

"How much do you know?" Felicity questioned as the other opened the car door to reveal Oliver's prone body in the backseat. She covered her mouth and let out a gasp. A few temporary bandages already soaked through with blood were wound around parts of his body, but that did nothing to cover the other gruesome bruises and lacerations shown. The majority of the green around his eyes had been wiped away, but a little bit was still smeared across his face. Oliver's dark, leather pants were torn and ripped at various places, and his jacket hung in rags off of his muscular shoulders.

"Help me get him down there – I'm guessing that you have medical supplies?" Felicity nodded an affirmative, and between them they were able to hoist him between shoulders and urgently but carefully got him down in the basement of the Verdant and situated on a table. Felicity pulled cart full of medical supplies over and pulled out her phone.

"You get started with," she motioned with her hands towards Oliver's body and medical cart, "and I have a call I need to make for more help." She dialed a number and brought her cell to the side of her head, walking away to also get a bowl of warm water.

Quentin began by doing what he could to carefully pull the torn jacket away from his body, wincing as he saw crusted over spots reopen as the fabric stuck to wounds. It was a sort of sick fascination that Quentin looked at the scars that were years old, scars that could have only come from one place. Clearly more had happened to the young Queen than what he had told the masses. Nowhere in the news did he hear of torture for that is the story that he was reading from the different lines – jagged, clean cut, straight, thick, uniform, circular – there were many adjectives that could be used, and it would be able to describe at least one scar on his body.

He was brought out of his musings when Felicity came back, phone in her pocket and bowl of warm water in her hands. Her face was easy to read, she cared deeply for the injured man before them, and it showed as she grabbed a hand towel to begin cleaning the blood, sweat, and grime away. They worked in tense silence as the clear water turned a murky red, and more shallow cuts were revealed.

The detective opted to not bring up any questions for the moment as they worked to keep Oliver alive. Felicity already had hooked him up to an IV drip and a heart monitor as well as a blood transfusion much to Quentin's surprise. He grew confused when after cleaning and bandaging the wrists injured by the rope, she placed straps on to keep Oliver strapped to the table, and did the same with his ankles. Felicity only offered a vague explanation,

"You hopefully won't see why we need these," she nodded at the straps, "but you probably will sadly learn soon enough." Quentin opened his mouth to reply back, but was interrupted by the door opening and a deep voice calling down to them.

"Colour?"

"Black!" Felicity replied back, urgency in her voice. Quentin was confused. "I'll explain later," she hurriedly threw to the detective. Moments later, the man that Lance knew as Oliver's bodyguard and security came into view, gun being held by his side – just in case. He stopped short with a grim look on his face when he spotted the last person he expected to see by Oliver and Felicity in this location.

Any questions were halted when he got a clear look at his friend's damaged body, and he was all action. Diggle did a quick inspection and cataloguing of the various injuries and got out the equipment to begin stitching up the ones that Quentin had not gotten to yet. They continued to work in silence, and slowly the black, blue, and red body came to be covered in clean, white bandages.

They finally finished up their work keeping Oliver alive for the time being, and the three of them sat down in chairs beside the table that held their friend – or as much of a friend he can be at the moment for Quentin.

Even though there was a plethora of questions swirling around in his mind, Quentin was at a loss for what to say. His mouth opened and closed several times, and his eyes moved to take in the sights that he didn't have time to see before in this _underground lair_ for the vigilante. That brought hundreds more questions to mind, but all he could utter was a single word,

"How?" Diggle raised an eyebrow at it, a forced smile on his face.

"How is Oliver the vigilante? How did he learn all that he knows? How were you trusted enough for the knowledge of this location? You might need to be a bit more specific, there are many questions that can be. But let me start with a question of my own, what do you plan to do now that you know about Oliver?" He fixed Quentin with an intense look.

"Honestly, I am not quite sure at the moment. If you had asked me a few days ago what I would do with the knowledge of who the Hood is, the answer is simple. But now?" he paused to think, hands clasped together with eyes focused on the man laid out on the table. "What are you supposed to do when the man you're trying to catch turns into the one who saves your life?" Neither Felicity nor Diggle had a good reply to that question.

The three of them sat there for a good amount of time before a question was asked that the two who knew Oliver more were able to answer.

"How did you two find out who he is?"

"He saved my life."

"I saved his life." Diggle and Felicity answered respectively, giving Quentin a moment of pause.

"Wait – him saving your life is plausible," a nod towards Diggle, "but don't take this the wrong way, but how did you save his life?" He directed the question to Felicity.

"Simple, his mother shot him in her office – well, she shot the vigilante not knowing that it's her son, cause she ended up using her own children as reasons for him not to shoot her which caused Oliver to lower his bow, giving Mrs. Queen the chance to shoot him as the Hood – and he needed a ride to this place. I got in my car and he was bleeding in the backseat. Once you're a part of his life and get to know him, it's hard to leave." A look of panic spread across her face. "Of course I'm not insinuating that I'm attracted to him or anything, not that I'm saying that he's not, just that… I'm doing it again, aren't I?" Her rhetorical question was met with a nod and smile from Diggle, and look of amusement from Quentin.

Felicity's common personality broke whatever ice was between them for conversation, and they were able to make small chat to get to know each other better. Quentin's questions tended to lean more towards the Oliver who survived the island, while Diggle and Felicity threw back questions to see how much they could trust the detective.

"What was with the colour call signal earlier?" Quentin asked, remembering it from before.

"Oh! That was something that Oliver came up with for whenever we were in a situation where one of us was hurt or were going into an unknown potential danger. Green is for when everything is good and there's no need to worry, white is for a kinda serious situation, purple is for an extremely serious situation," Felicity began.

"And black?" The IT girl bit her bottom lip.

"Knockin' on heaven's door." Diggle bluntly supplied the answer. Quentin sat back in his seat, absorbing the information that he was given.

"Why are you two being so open with me? Days ago you would do anything to make getting answers involving Oliver difficult, what changed?"

"Oliver told you to bring him here, _and_ he even gave you the code to get in – which reminds me, I haven't changed it in a few weeks…" Felicity trailed off.

"What she's trying to say," Diggle began to decipher her answer, "is that Oliver could have easily disappeared if he felt the need to after getting you both to safety. He felt at least safe enough to let himself pass out, trusting you to not bring him to the hospital or let him die."

"But why would he trust me? I have been trying to catch him for what he has done, and then he goes and blindly makes this decision."

"It wasn't done blindly – he knows what kind of man you are, and he respects you. He knows that you're honest and stay true to what you believe in."

"Which seems to be an even bigger reason for him not to trust me. If I stay true to what I believe in, then he would be in a hospital right now with a police detail stationed in his room." Diggle shook his head.

"No, what you stay true to is justice, and you can now see the reasons behind Oliver's actions I'm sure. The man who took both of you would never have gotten justice on the lawful side of things. The blood of many innocents – be it children, women, or men – are on his hands. And yet the police have been helpless to get any sort of information or proof they could use on him. What Oliver does as the Hood does make him a criminal, but he provides a type of justice that the law cannot provide."

While Diggle was speaking, Felicity had gotten up to grab a clean hand towel to work at the blood and grime missed previously. The two other men in the room watched her as the silence allowed what Diggle had said to sink in.

"She didn't give me much of an answer, but why is he strapped down to the table?" Diggle answered the other's question with one of his own.

"You know how when you wake up, you sometimes feel disorientated, not knowing where you are?" Quentin slowly nodded. "Think about it, Oliver lived on an island where anything and everything could kill him for five years. Instincts grown over that time don't go away when it's your life on the line." Realization dawned on the detective, and it spurred several more questions, the leading one being the most common: what happened to Oliver on the island?

"You'll have to ask him that yourself. Even I don't know a lot, but it is still more that what his family and the press know." Felicity continued to absentmindedly dab at Oliver's face lost in her own world, removing what was left of the green smearing and not paying attention to the others in the room.

Suddenly, there was movement from Oliver's body as the heart monitor began to spike and shriek. His eyes snapped open, unfocused and wild. There were grunts of pain and frustration as he tried to break out of the bonds, his mind clouded with memories from years ago.

"Oliver, OLIVER!" Diggle took Felicity's place beside their friend as he held the other's shoulders down to the table. "Listen to me, Oliver, this is Diggle. Your friend. Felicity is here too, you are in Starling City, not Lian Yu. You're not being held captive by them, you're in the basement of your club!" Quentin watched on as the strained muscles relaxed and the look of pain and terror gradually slipped from Oliver's face to reveal eyes screwed shut with pain, but more relaxed with his mind in the here and now. Heavy breathing and gasps slowed down, and he let his head fall back to rest on the table.

"Dig? 'Licity?" A weak, raspy voice came from the bound man.

"Yeah, Oliver, we're here. So is Quentin Lance, you remember what happened?" Felicity's soft voice replied to his, and in turn, his eyes shot open and searching for the detective. The two locked gazes for a few moments as remembrance washed over Oliver's face, and his mind replayed the events that had happened to bring them to this point.

"You can take these off now, thanks." He said to no one in particular as he slightly raised an arm bound to the table. Diggle, being closer, reached to his legs to unbind them while Felicity began at undoing the ones at his arms. Quentin awkwardly kept quiet off to the side of it all.

Oliver then ripped off the heart monitor and removed the IV drip, despite Felicity's protests. He then gently pushed Diggle away when he began to try and sit up, only to slightly grab onto his friend's shoulder to steady him from the sudden dizziness.

"You should not be moving this fast, you just took a beating and need rest!"

"Common, Felicity, they're just lots of minor injuries that look worse all together than they really are. Trust me, I've had worse. All I needed was a little sleep." Quentin didn't want to think about what was worse after seeing only a small portion of the scars that littered the young man's body.

"That wasn't sleep, Oliver, that was you passed out from all that happened to you!" Felicity replied back with an exasperated voice. Diggle made a side comment to Quentin,

"Yes, Oliver does know his limits, and yes, this does happen more often than not." Oliver only gave the blonde a smile before turning to look at Quentin. After a small wince from moving his head too fast, he posed the question that was heavy in the air for all of them.

"So what now, Detective Lance?" A slight, barely there emphasis was put on the 'detective' part.

"Well, I don't know. I guess that it all depends on the answers you give me – you did say that I can ask any questions later, and if you're up to it, now is later." Oliver nodded in acceptance at the reply he got, and gave Quentin a look of resignation.

"So what do you want to know?"

"I'm sure you can guess the first question – it seems like that's one of the first questions they asked you when you got back."

"What happened to me on the island?" Oliver guessed.

"What happened to you on the island?" he confirmed. With that, Oliver launched into the story of it all, and Quentin sat stunned at what he was hearing. Felicity and Diggle for the most part already knew the parts their friend offered to the detective, but occasionally there was something they had forgotten or was entirely new to them.

Quentin wasn't sure what the answer was going to be, but he wasn't expecting this tale of torment and torture. He saw the scars, but now it was different hearing how they were obtained from the mouth of the last person he would have expected to become a friend.

"Before we continue, I want to know who I'm talking to: Detective Lance or Quentin?" Oliver eyed the man in question, an undecipherable look in his eye. After a moment of thought, he got his answer.

"Right now, I'm thinking that the detective is waiting outside that door. I heard that he's not a patient man, so I'm pretty sure he'll be gone from the door soon enough. But Quentin, well, after a certain someone saved his life and began telling the truth for once, I'm thinking that he's going to want to stick around for a bit. Even if it is to satisfy a curiosity at the moment." At Oliver's failed attempt at hiding his grin, Quentin continued his answer.

"Not saying that it's a permanent decision, but I don't think the Hood has to keep watching over his shoulder for this Starling City Police Department detective."

"Welcome to the team then."


End file.
